the teardrops

Hushed bead of salt water

Clings to a dewy cheek.

She slowly carves a curving arc,

Like a glistening snail’s streak.


She whispers down pale skin,

At an inching, crawling pace.

Diminishing herself in travel,

She pauses with a solemn grace.


A competitor careers the silver path,

Following the lead, feeling drowned.

She crashes against more swirling fluid

And both slip to the solid ground.

The End

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